


Platonic Marvel One-Shots

by BigBandBombshell



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friendship, Gender Neutral, Guns, Other, Platonic Relationship, alcohol mention, firearms, platonic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:24:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7763047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigBandBombshell/pseuds/BigBandBombshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone needs a good friend from time to time. What if your friend was one of the mightiest heroes on Earth (and beyond)?  These one-shots are as body-type, race, and gender-neutral as I could make them, so hopefully any reader can put themselves in the story. If your favorite character isn't in the series yet, leave a comment and I will work on getting them up ASAP!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steve Rogers/Captain America

The door behind you hisses open and you freeze mid-strike. A fist whistles by your head and you dance away, eyes snapping from the sparring android to Steve and back. 

“At ease, soldier.” Steve waves a hand at you as he leans against a wall. You hesitate, then drop your hands to your sides and take a few steps out of the sparring arena.

“Power down, FRIDAY,” you say.

“A good session, .” Friday’s voice fills the room for a moment as the robot bows. You and Steve watch as it strides across the room and powers down at a docking station.

“I gotta admit,” Steve says, “the training bots kinda creep me out sometimes.”

“Me too,” you admit with a shrug. “But this time of night there isn't usually anyone to practice against.” You rub your bruised fists slightly and eye Steve. He catches your gaze and holds his hands up.

“Don't look at me,” he says. “I came in here to talk you out of damaging more Stark property.”

“How did you know I was even in here?” You cross to a bench against the far wall and drop onto it as you reach for a towel..

“We all go through this phase once in a while,” Steve says as he drops onto the bench beside you. “Nightmares or insomnia, that is. It’s good to know where someone is when this sort of thing hits.”

“So you've got my apartment bugged?” Irritation tinges your words and Steve shakes his head.

“Tony put in a fail safe when he built the training room. Called it the “Excessive Force” code or something like that. If any one team member uses the room for more than three hours at a time, or starts pulling all nighters for a week straight, he and I get a notice.”

“That's a little creepy,” you say. Steve nods but there isn’t a trace of chagrin in his expression.

“Well, with people as tight-lipped as Natasha and as willful as you, we had to come up with some way to take care of everyone.”

“We should call you Papa Cap or something,” you say as you roll your eyes.

“Oh god,” he groans. “Please don't. I already feel a thousand years older than the rest of the team.”

“Well, if you think about it,” you trail off with a shrug and Steve arches his brow at you.

“You keep that sass up and I'm gonna take back my offer.” He smiles to soften his words and you shrug.

“You haven't made any offers yet,” you point out.

“I was distracted by feeling old,” he replied. “But I came in here to suggest you might find a better way to burn off energy than beating up Stark's tech.”

You arch a brow at Steve and wait until he realizes the implication of his words.

“No!” He suddenly bursts out. “Well, I mean if you've got someone... that's not the point. I'm not propositioning you, .”

“Good,” you say with mock relief. “Because that would be incredibly awkward.”

“Gee, thanks,” Steve replies. “I was going to say that I know a nearby bar that has good beer, great security, and free pool.”

“I never took you for the pool-playing type,” you say. In your post-spar adrenaline drop, a beer and some pool sound really good.

“I was in the army,” Steve says. His expression makes it clear you should be able to see the connection.

“True,” you say. “But you didn't exactly have a standard enlistment experience.”

“Also true,” Steve admits. “But Bucky did and he made sure I didn't feel left out.” 

“Well, if you insist,” you say with a shrug. “Let me clean up and we'll head to the bar.”

Thirty minutes later the two of your are strolling down the street, hands in your pockets as you toss banter back and forth. The bar is even closer than Steve made it seem and the beer is indeed good. You were almost the only two in the place, but the bartender assured you that they stayed open all night.

“Is this what you do when you can't sleep?” You ask as Steve racks the billiard balls.

“Sometimes,” he admits. “Sam and I found this place not longer after he moved into the tower. I can't get drunk, but there's something calming about pool with a friend.”

“Is that what this is?” You take a sip of your beer as you wait for his answer.

“I'd like to think so,” he answers. You give him a smile and grab a pool cue from the wall.

“Remember you said that after I clean the table with you,” you say.

“Oh we'll see about that,” Steve shoots back. He posts himself on a stool against the wall as you take the first shot, and then you two trade places. You move back and forth, game after game. Music burbles overhead and the clack of billiard balls is almost like a counter rhythm. You lose track of time until you find yourself squinting just to see the ball clearly.

“Trouble lining up the shot?” Steve teases. You turn and make a face at him, then shake your head and make your shot. It goes wide and you curse as you hang your head.

“I'm not drunk,” you assure him. You'd only had two beers paced throughout the hours you'd played pool.

“Oh I know,” Steve says. He takes your pool cue from your hand and pays the bar tab.

“What time is it?” You ask. Steve only points to the rising sun as he helps you out of the bar and back home.

“How are you not tired?” You ask him as the two of you stumble into an elevator in the Avengers Tower.

“Super soldier perks,” he says. “The whole point was to wear you out without having to send you to the docs in the morning.”

“I certainly feel less grumpy,” you admit. Steve smiles at you as the elevator opens to your floor. He slips an around around you waist and guides you to your apartment.

“Always happy to help a friend,” he says. You give him a friendly hug, then key yourself into your apartment. The door clicks closed behind you and you begin staggering towards your room. But the couch is much closer and you fall into it like a metal shaving to a magnet, eyes closed before your head hits a throw pillow.


	2. Natasha Romanova/Black Widow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: This one-shot follows along as Natasha gives you a lesson at a shooting range.

You eye the bar behind the kitchen counter warily. The whiskey looks tempting, like the Sandman’s magic powder in liquid form.

“There are other options, you know.” The voice catches you off guard and you whip around in your seat. Natasha smirks at you from the other side of the common room and you frown at her.

“Shouldn't you be asleep?” You ask.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replies. “Then again, we all know you haven't really slept these last few weeks.”

“Is FRIDAY tattling on people again?” You snap as you close the book you'd been trying to read.

“Not exactly,” Natasha says. “She did a report on your sleeplessness, but the team noticed well before that.”

“Lot of busy bodies, if you ask me,” you grumble. You settle more firmly into the couch and open your book once more.

“Like I said,” Natasha speaks up after a moment. “There are options other than books and booze if you want to get your mind away from the stress.”

“Like what?” You close your book once again and set it aside with a sigh. Natasha doesn’t seem to be in the mood to leave you alone.

“The firing range is open for use twenty-four hours a day,” Natasha says. “Sometimes it helps to get your adrenaline up in a safe space, then let it fall off naturally.”

“That actually helps?” 

Natasha pushes off from the door frame and crosses the room to take a seat on the chair opposite you.

“When was the last time you felt an adrenaline rush outside of battle?” She arches a brow at you, leaning forward in her chair. You think for a moment, then shrug.

“I guess when I was a kid,” you say. “My parents took me to a theme park with a bunch of roller coasters. Scared the hell out of me.”

“But as an adult, you've only experience high levels of adrenaline while in battle, right?” She stares at you until you nod.

“Your point?” You know you’re being surlier than you mean to be. Thankfully Natasha seems to be in a sporting mood and she only rolls her eyes once before going on.

“You've mentally linked adrenaline to battle, specifically to battles that have been close calls,” she begins. You nod slowly, thinking back over the missions you'd been on since joining the team. It was true that every mission you'd been on had been a close call, though Steve had assured you after the last one that missions weren't usually so brutal.

“So every time you think back to the battles, your adrenaline goes up. There's no other memories associated with it, so you end up on this feedback loop – battle, surge, battle, surge.” She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “Learning to shoot a gun usually involves a lot of adrenaline. If you let me teach you, you'll have memories of adrenaline in a safe place to help derail that loop.”

“A roller coaster would be more fun,” you grumble. Natasha smiles and shrugs.

“I'm sure Tony would be willing to buy the nearest theme park if you're really adamant about that,” she says. Your eyes go wide as you give a quick shake of your head, and Natasha gives you a small smirk.

“In that case,” she says. “I think it's time you and I head down to the firing range.”

Natasha rises from her seat and heads to the elevator without looking back. You leave your book behind on the seat of the couch, deciding that if the shooting range proves to be a bad idea, you can always give the book - and maybe the whiskey - a second chance. 

“Are the guns kept down there?” You ask as you join Natasha in the elevator. “Or do we have to go, like, get some? I have no idea how this is supposed to work.”

“Tony keeps a small selection of handguns in a locked room near the range,” Natasha says. “I'll help you pick one that isn't too powerful or over-sized, then we'll just empty a few magazines into a bunch of shredded tires.”

“Shredded tires?” You can't imagine why the shooting range would need shredded tires, but Natasha just nods.

“Technically we'll be firing at paper targets, but the back of the range is full of shredded tires to absorb the bullets. Ricochet would be a very, very bad thing.”

“How long is the range?”

“Eight thousand yards,” Natasha says with a shrug. She rattles the number off casually but your jaw drops as you do some quick math.

“That's more than four miles long,” you stammer out. “Where the hell is this range?”

“Under the tower, of course,” Natasha says. “Have you never been to the complex under the tower?”

“I'm going to go ahead and go with 'no' on this one,” you reply. “How did Tony get away with building an underground complex. We're in the middle of freaking Manhattan!” Natasha cuts you a strange look, then shrugs once more.

“He's Tony Stark,” she says. “He works for SHIELD and owns all the property for several blocks in every direction. Rumor has it he even has his own subway station down there.”

“Okay,” you say, holding both hands out. “Now you're just messing with me.”

“I said it was a rumor,” Natasha replies with a small smile. “But the complex is real, and the range really is that big.”

“What the hell do you guys need four miles of room to test-fire down there?”

“Nothing you'll be firing tonight,” Natasha replies.

A small chime cuts off your reply and the doors slide open. A few SHIELD agents move to the side to allow you and Natasha by, then crowd into the vacated elevator.

“We'll need to get you some ear protection,” Natasha says. She leads you down a hall and through a series of doors. You follow her through them and then down another hall. A set of double doors seal the other end, flanked by a single closed door on the left. Natasha pulls a key from her pocket and opens the single door, then flips on the light.

“I thought you said he kept 'a small selection of handguns' down here,” you choke out. You step past Natasha and make a slow circle in the middle of the room, eyes wide. Firearms of various makes and sizes line the walls in locked cabinets, their ammunition stacked in boxes on overhead shelves.

“Small is a relative term,” Natasha replies. She moves up beside you, then glances from your hands to the selection of pistols. “This one, I think.” She takes a medium-sized gun from its mount and grabs a box of ammo from the floor.

“Follow me.” She leads you from the room and through the double doors. A line of windows separates you from the long, dark tunnel ahead. Natasha opens a door set to one side and you follow her through.

“First things first,” she says. “You'll have to wear a set of protective ear muffs at all times.” She hands you the muffs, then sets her own on a table off to the side. The clock over her head ticks off the minutes as she teaches you about the safety, the magazine, and how to load your weapon. More minutes pass as she teaches you the best way to stand, sight down your weapon, and how to aim. Every tick of the clock seems to add more adrenaline to your system, though it builds slowly enough that you don't notice it until your breathing becomes tighter.

“Feeling amped up?” Natasha asks.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I've never done this before.”

“You'll do fine,” Natasha says. She guides you to a shooting station and has you set yourself up while she checks a bank of monitors behind you, then hits a switch. A low alarm sounds from far down the tunnel as a wall begins to lower, reducing the length of the tunnel ahead of you.

“We don't need the full length just for pistols,” Natasha says. A load of shredded rubber rises from the floor after the wall touches down and you glance at Natasha. She waits a moment longer, then flips another switch. The alarm cuts off as all movement in the tunnel freezes. Natasha flips another set of switches and targets swing down from the ceiling.

“Alright,” she says. “Get your earmuffs on and take a few shots, just like I showed you.”

She dons her own earmuffs and moves behind you, watching as you load a magazine into your pistol and slip your own earmuffs on. You adjust your feet, grip the pistol in both hands and raise it up to aim at the target. It jerks back in your hand as you fire and you bite off a yell of surprise. Nat had warned you about recoil, but experiencing it is something else entirely. She moves closer and puts her hands over yours. The next shot jumps back less and Natasha uses the press of her hands on your shoulders, wrists, and fingers to teach you how to control the recoil.

You repeat this pattern with her several times until you finally fire a shot and maintain full control of the weapon. A sudden smile crosses your face and you turn to her with a surge of excitement. She smiles back and flashes a thumbs up, then moves to her own shooting station. You return to your target, noting with some chagrin that most of your shots had actually missed the outline and peppered the edges of the yellow paper. But your next shot goes almost exactly where you want it to, and you line up another shot with a grim smile of confidence. Energy surges in your veins and you find yourself eager to empty the magazine and slide another in. Natasha fires off her weapon from the station to your left and you watch as she clusters the shots together in perfect, tight formations. You try to mimic her shots, though you know you’ll need a lot more practice to even come close..

Time slides by as the blood pounds in your ears. It's the only sound you can hear over the boom of the guns echoing back from the tunnel walls. Your skin tingles and every hair on your body feels like the root is charged with lightning. The gun clicks as you empty first one magazine, then another and another. Natasha checks in on your every now and then, but as long as you're still firing your weapon she stays at her station. The electricity seems to sink into your skin after the third or fourth clip you empty, but your muscles still hum with tension. It isn't until you're refilling your clips with the last the ammunition in the box that Natasha taps you on the shoulder. She motions for you to lay your gun down and then flips the switches that retract the targets. The rubber lowers back into the floor and then the dividing wall comes up. Lights flick on further down the tunnel to extend the line of sight, but Natasha gathers up your gun and clips before you can reach for them.

She removes her ear muffs and you follow her lead.

“I think that's enough practice for today,” she says.

“I actually enjoyed that,” you say. You give her a wide grin and she smiles back.

“I thought you would. She leads you back to the supply room and quickly settles the supplies back into their places. “Is your adrenaline still good and high?” She doesn't look up from the tablet she's making notes on but you nod all the same.

“Oh definitely,” you reply. “I feel like I could wipe out a whole Hydra unit on my own right now.”

“Good,” she says. “Because now we're going to go do some breathing exercises.” Your grin slips a bit as you stare at her.

“Breathing exercises?” You blink a few times, sure you misheard her. “You want me to go do deep breathing after all this?”

“That's the idea,” Natasha replies. You hurry to catch up to her as she winds the two of you back to the elevators. A car arrives and the two of you step inside, then Natasha keys in the code for a floor you've never been to.

“Let me guess,” you say. “There's a meditation garden somewhere in the tower too.”

“No, Stark didn't think it would work well, given how often the tower gets attacked,” she replies. “But he did have a floor designed with spa rooms. They're really handy when you want a quiet, calm space to work through your thoughts.”

“Wouldn't my apartment work just as well for that?” You ask. Natasha shakes her head.

“Unless you have a space set aside, free of distractions, you're going to get side tracked until you've practiced your focus.” She shrugs then lets a small grin slip out. “Besides, does your apartment have incredibly comfortable floor cushions, aroma therapy, and mood lighting?” You shake your head and Natasha shrugs. “Well there you go.”

You fall silent for the rest of the elevator ride, though you bounce on your feet to work off some of the energy still singing along your limbs. Natasha leans against the wall of the car and watches, her face a neutral mask. The elevator slows and then dings as the doors slide open, and you're the first out of the car.

“So where to?” You ask. Natasha follows at a slower pace and presses a finger to her lips, signalling you to be quiet. She then motions down the hall and you follow, trying to keep your steps from echoing back at you from the walls.

Natasha stops in front of a room with the word “Available” on a display above the door. She swipes her ID card and then pushes the door in as the display overhead changes to “Unavailable”. The door clicks closed before Natasha speaks again.

“Go ahead and have a seat,” she says. You arrange a few of the large floor pillows into something comfortable to sit on, then slowly lower yourself down.

“Should I take off my shoes or something?” You ask. Natasha shrugs and settles herself onto the floor. A few LED candles flicker to life on shelves around the room and Natasha manipulates the lighting with a small remote as the calming hint of [favorite essential oil] drifts into the room.

“That's up to you,” she says. “The whole point of this room is to be comfortable.” You hesitate, then slip off your shoes and resettle yourself on the cushions. Natasha settles her hands into her lap and closes her eyes.

“You can lay down, pace the room, sit here,” she says. “Just do whatever feels the most comfortable.” You remain seated and try to mimic her peaceful appearance.

“Some people use visualization to calm down,” she says. “Imagine the adrenaline as black smoke or red mist or whatever, then imagine it leaving you as you breathe out and being sucked away by the filtration system.”

“Is that what you do?” You ask. Natasha hesitates and you crack one eye open to glance at her, but she doesn't move.

“Not really,” she says. “I imagine all the things bothering me as weeds in a garden. Then I identify them, decide if they're worth keeping around, and deal with them accordingly.”

You mull over these options and settle on your own visualization. It runs through your head over and over, and each time you feel your muscles relax a little more. Soon the visions in your head become a little blurrier. You try to sharpen them up but it only lasts a few moments before they blur again. Eventually you stop trying to correct the images and just leave them the way they are. New images start to slip in, but they're the Wonderlandian images of a dream. You shake your head, or at least try to, but they won't budge. They calm you, despite their sudden appearance, and you eventually accept them as you work through your visualization.

A bright light runs across your eyes and you turn your head away. The light seems to be all around you, and after a few long moments of grumbling you open your eyes. A pillow fills your immediate vision, and it's not a pillow you remember seeing in the spa room. It's your pillow, and beyond it stretches your bedroom. You sit up and find yourself still dressed in your clothes from the night before, though your hands smell like the soap you keep in the bathroom instead of the gunpowder and iron they'd smelled of after going to the range. Your shoes are on the floor a few feet off from the bed and your tablet blinks a notification at you from your bedside table. When you open the notification you find a note from Natasha.

You fell asleep in the spa room, so I carried you home. I figured gunpowder wouldn't smell great while you slept, so I washed your hands. The clothes were beyond me though, sorry friend. Hope you sleep well. Let me know if you want to go shooting again.

You smile and set the tablet aside. For the first time in more than a week, you finally feel rested.


	3. Bucky Barnes/ The Winter Soldier

You glance at the clock and groan. It's three in the morning and sleep isn't anywhere in sight. 

“Fuck it,” you mumble to yourself. “I'm going to the gym.” You throw the blankets off and click on your bedside lamp. The floor is cold beneath you feet and you mutter irritably under your breath. This is the sixth night in a row you haven't slept properly and you're thoroughly over it. You grab exercise clothes from a basket in your closet and slip into them, then lace on your running shoes. 

The tower is silent as you leave your apartment and take an elevator down to one of the gym floors. You envy your team mates their sleep as you grab a towel and water bottle from the stock Tony keeps on hand. The water is cold in your hand and you take a long drink before you begin to stretch. The motions feel good after the tense hours lying in bed. You groan softly as you roll your neck and feel the muscles loosen up.

“Oh.” A soft exclamation echoes into the room and you spin around as your heart jerks roughly in your chest.

“Jesus, Bucky.” You take a deep breath to calm you heart rate and press the heel of your hand to your chest. “Where did you come from?”

“The elevator,” he says slowly, one thumb hooked back towards the door.

“You need to cut that stealth shit in the tower,” you mutter darkly. “Gonna make Banner Hulk-out or get a shield to the face.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” he says. You can hear amusement in his voice and you confirm it by glancing into the mirrors that line the room. His smirk is easy to see, even from across the room.

“I can use another gym,” you say. “Coming in this time of night, you probably want to be alone.” You reach for your towel but stop when you feel his hand on your shoulder.

“Are you okay, ?” His smirk is gone and you frown slightly. In your current mood you'd rather deal with the cocky Winter Soldier than nice-guy Bucky Barnes.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” you say. You force a smile and Bucky arches an eyebrow at you.

“Right,” he says. “You're fine and I'm a pine tree. Talk to me.”

“I don't feel like talking, Buck.” You pull your shoulder from his grip and turn away. “I'm just grumpy and tired and don't feel like -”

“You can't sleep?” He cuts you off and you grit your teeth to bite off an angry reply.

“Bingo,” you say after a moment. 

“When did it start?” He sits down on the bench beside your towel. You sigh and rub your eyes, then lean against the wall. The set to Bucky’s jaw makes it clear that you're not getting out of this chat.

“Almost a week ago, right after we got back from the mission.”

“I can understand that,” he says with a shrug. “It was your first mission. It's always hard to sleep after your first mission.”

“Do you remember your first mission?” You bite your lip the second the question leaves your mouth. Nobody but Steve asks him about “the old days”, it's just not done. But Bucky only shrugs and gives you a lopsided smile.

“I remember being scared as hell before we went into battle. And then so relieved that I'd lived through it that I felt immortal. I don't think I slept for the next two days.” 

“I can relate,” you say with a nod. “How did you finally get yourself to sleep?”

“Uh, well...” Bucky trails off and rubs the back of his neck. “I got into a lot of play fights with the other guys and got to know some local... friends.”

“Friends,” you repeat the word slowly. “Right, I buy that.” He glances up at you and you shoot a smirk back at him.

“Hey, you asked.” He holds his hands up in a placating gesture and you can't help but laugh.

“Fair point,” you reply. “I'm not really the type to have 'friends', as you put it, but I could definitely do with a sparring partner.”

“I think I can help with that,” he says. He pushes up from the bench and you follow him to the center of the room.

You've sparred with Steve before, but he always holds back. Bucky keeps enough of his strength back so he won't kill you, but otherwise he makes you work for your victories. You circle one another, darting forward to jab or kick when you see an opening. Adrenaline rises in you as you see him shift into combat mode and you realize that your adrenaline had never really gone down after the mission. It wasn't as high as it had been mid-battle, but you can tell now that it wasn't back to normal. It’s jumped too high, too fast. Your pupils dilate and a smirk twists Bucky's mouth.

“See,” he says. “Too much adrenaline. You need to burn that off.”

“Then help me,” you reply. “And quit dancing around.” He laughs, then cuts off the sound as he comes at you. You dodge to the side and have to twist to avoid a low kick. Blood thunders in your ears and your breath is coming hard as you turn on him and land a blow to his ribs. 

Again and again you lunge for each other, attack, then fall back. Bruises form on your forearms and legs but in the heat of the moment they feel good. You're not sure how long you've actually been sparring when Bucky holds up a hand.

“I'm wiped,” he says. He's breathing heavy and you can't help the pride you feel when you see bruises on his arm as well. You take several deep breaths and will your heart rate back to normal. It takes a moment, but you come down from the adrenaline. And then you crash.

You sway on your feet and Bucky grabs your arm.

“Feeling alright?” He asks. You nod and a slow smile crosses your face.

“I'm tired.” The words almost sound surprised. Bucky nods and throws your towel around your neck.

“Can you make it up to your apartment on your own?” He asks. You ponder this for a moment then nod.

“Yeah, I think so.” You smile up at him and clap a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks Buck.”

“Any time,” he says. “It helps to burn off the adrenaline in a safe place when you've been through something. Just try not to wait a week next time, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” You salute him briefly, then make your way back to the elevator. Your legs feel like rubber and you have to lean against the elevator car's wall as you ride back to your apartment. But it's worth it when you collapse into your bed and sleep washes over you without hesitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the song "These Days" by The Babys


	4. Thor Odinson/Thor

Someone is crying in the distance, though you can’t locate the origin of the sound. Is it the collapsed building to your left or the pile of rubble a block ahead of you? You shake your head, trying to clear the adrenaline rush of battle so you can focus on the sound.

It’s coming from the rubble ahead of you. You break into a jog, then a run. The cry becomes clearer as the ringing in your ears fades and you push yourself faster as you register that the cries are that of a child. 

“Don’t move!” You yell. “I’m going to get you out of there.”

The cries cut off and the child starts calling out for you. You don’t understand the word, but you can hear the panic and fear in the boy’s voice. 

You skid to a stop, feet slipping on the small debris that always surrounds the larger piles of broken stone. Most of the rubble is small enough that you can move it on your own but some of the pieces are far too large. 

“This is {Codename}. I’m at... aw geez.” You glance around and finally locate a street sign, bent nearly in half near a chunk of fallen masonry. “I’m near the corner of Feteri and 122nd. I’ve got a kid trapped in rubble and some of the pieces need a super-touch to lift.”

“I am on my way.” Thor’s voice booms across the coms before anyone else can answer. You’re vaguely aware of Steve confirming Thor’s reassignment but your mind is already back on the rubble and the kid. You’re not even sure if the two of you have a common language but that doesn’t stop you from talking to him in tones you hope come across as calming.

“Just a few minutes and you’ll be breathing fresh air, kid.” You choke back a grunt as you toss away a piece of rubble that’s heavier than expected. “Stark’s medical teams will get you fixed up and we’ll get you back to your family.” A quick prayer to anyone listening follows your words. A prayer that the kid still has a family to go back to.

The team had been called into this town when a local war got too nasty, civilians taking more hits than either of the armies involved. You both loved and hated the missions issued by the UN, torn between wanting to help those who needed it and hating to see so much destruction. Not that other missions were much cleaner. There was just something especially sickening about the unreserved destruction you usually found when you were sent in to end someone else’s fight The team hadn’t picked sides, choosing instead to take out the weapons on both sides of the conflict and start the cleanup process. It was the UN’s job to figure out a resolution.

“And we’ll get you some food.” You go back to talking to the kid to keep your mind off the sprawling chaos around you. “Food and clean clothes and water. Just what you need right now.” You bite off the urge to add ‘a stable government’ to the list. That’s not something you can provide.

“{Codename}, I am here to help you.” Thor lands a few feet away, the pebbles at your feet dancing with the small rumble of his arrival.

“Perfect timing.” You glance up at him and wipe the sweat from your brow with the back of one hand. “This slab of... whatever... needs to be moved but it’s holding up all this mess down here.” 

“If I lift the slab can you reach the trapped child?” Thor paces around the pile of rubble, his practiced gaze sizing it up. You nod, chewing your lip for a moment.  
“If he’s close enough, yeah.”

Thor crouches down and peers into the gloom beneath the rubble. A smile lights up his face and he waves, one huge hand fluttering for a second.

“We’re going to get you out,” he says, “but you need to come towards me.” You crouch down beside him and get your first look at the kid. He’s covered in mud, dust, and more than a little bit of blood. Cuts and scrapes range over his arms and legs but from the way he’s moving in the cramped space you’re reasonably sure he doesn’t have any broken bones. He calls out to you and Thor, reaching one hand up towards the opening in the rubble.

“Are you ready?” Thor glances at you then gives the kid an encouraging nod and motions for him to stay where he is. You take a deep breath, glancing around to see if there’s anyone else who can help in case something goes wrong. There’s only Barton and he is a block away, elbow-deep in another pile of rubble. You watch as he extracts one person and then another and another from what must have been a basement. The people stream away from you towards the flashing blue lights that indicate a medical station. You and Thor are on your own.

“Let’s do this.” You take a deep breath and brace your feet against the most solid pavement you can find. Thor nods at you, gives the kid one more smile, and stands up. He grabs the edge of the slab, roots his feet next to yours, and grimaces as he begins to lift.

“Come ‘ere kid.” You stretch forward into the gap, aware that if Thor loses his grip on the slab it’s going to do very bad things to your spine. The kid hesitates and you give him an encouraging smile, nodding as you stretch your hand even closer to him.

Three things happen in the space of a single breath. One of the beams on top of Thor’s slab begins to slide backwards with a nearly animal shriek. Thor curses as the shifting weight threatens his grip on the slab, his forehead beading with sweat. And the kid lunges at you, eyes wide with renewed fear. 

Your arms lock around the boy’s back and you rock yourself backwards, landing flat on the pavement a foot away from the rubble just as Thor’s fingers lose their grip and the whole mass of stone and steel comes crashing down.

“{YN} are you hurt?” Thor drops down beside you, brows drawn together.

“Fine,” you grunt. The kid is on the ground beside you, breathing hard as he stares at the now-inverted pile of stone. “Check the kid.” 

Your head falls back on the pavement and you take a deep, shaking breath as you stare up at the clouds. The slab had grazed the back of your skull as you threw yourself and the kid clear of the debris, though not hard enough to merit a trip to the medics. But your head still spins from the impact. So you lay there and listen as Thor calls for a medical unit and a translator. They arrive a few seconds later, already on their way after the sounds of the cave-in. Thor hands the child off to them, waving him away with a bright smile. 

“You did a good job.” Thor sits down next to you, Mjolnir dangling between his knees. You glance over and consider pushing the hammer like a pendulum, wondering if it would even move. 

“Couldn’t have done it without you.” You shoot him a cockeyed grin but turning your head that far makes the world spin and you roll your head back to center.

“You’re injured,” Thor says. You shrug, not sure if shaking your head is a good idea.

“I’ll be fine.” You wave a hand at him. “Just grazed it on the rocks a little.” You can feel more than see Thor’s frown.

“We need to get you to a medical unit.” Thor says. You wave your hand at him again but he grabs it and hauls you to your feet before you can protest.

“I... whoa.” You waver on your feet and Thor grabs hold of your arms, his hands curling most of the way around your biceps.

“Do not say that you’re fine.” He grumbles. “You humans are always insisting you’re fine when you’re injured.”

“Says the guy who gets slammed into a building and walks away with a grin.” You frown at him as Thor begins to lead you towards the flashing blue lights.

“I am not human.” Thor says, shrugging as though that is answer enough.

“C’mon Thor, I’m fine!” You try and pull your arm from his grip. You blame weakness from the head wound when you fail.

“You are very clearly injured.” Thor doesn’t even bother rolling his eyes at your attempts at bravado. “And I am not going to let my comrade in arms walk around a warzone with a head wound.”

His words are slow to sink in but once they do your feet feel rooted to the pavement. Thor turns at your sudden stop, brows quirked in confusion. “{YN} are you alright? Do you need help walking?”

“What? No.” You shake your head then waver on your feet as the world tips one way and then the other. “I just... comrade in arms? Isn’t that a bit... formal?” Thor laughs and tugs on your arm to get you moving again.

“We have fought battles together, saved lives together. You have shielded my back and I yours. And when we are not fighting, when my duties in Asgard permit, we enjoy peace together. You are one of my comrades in arms. I thought that was understood by now.” You look up at him and you’re not entirely sure if the warmth squeezing your chest is genuine emotion or an overreaction brought on by the concussion you very likely have. 

“I never looked at it that way.” You smile as you look back at the road. It’s getting harder to walk straight and you’re suddenly glad for Thor’s hand around your arm.

“That is why I cannot let you ignore your injuries.” Thor’s grip tightens as you stumble. You nod, wincing as you pass the strobing blue lights. Medical personnel swarm around you, two of them peeling off from the controlled chaos to shine lights in your eyes and ask you questions that Thor ends up answering. They take you from him, gentle hands replacing his tight grip. Before they lead you away you glance over your shoulder at him.

“Hey Thor,” you call. He looks back and you grin at him.

“Save me some of that good Asgardian stuff for later, huh? If it makes my head spin like this, I think I can handle it.” Thor grins at you, shaking his head as he turns and walks back out into the rubble.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspire by the song "All These Things I've Done" by The Killers.


End file.
